


The Funeral

by finefeatheredfriend



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Alternate Ending, Bittersweet Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 11:29:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19811374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finefeatheredfriend/pseuds/finefeatheredfriend
Summary: A tragic event brings the Resistance and Eden’s Gate together for good.





	The Funeral

Deputy Earl Whitehorse had never shot a man before. It looked like that might change today. He aimed down the sights of his .44 Magnum L, heart pounding in his chest madly, his hands shaking a little.

“Drop your weapon!” he ordered firmly, mentally cursing the shake in his voice.

“Make me, pig!” the perpetrator challenged. Shots spattered the side of Earl’s patrol car and he ducked down, fear shooting through him. Why on god’s green earth had he ever thought it would be a good idea to work a job where you ran toward gunfire, not away? All those tumbles bull riding must have scrambled his brain, he decided, as he panted, terror making him feel lightheaded as the perp continued unloading his gun into the side of Earl’s car, trying in vain to hit him. Hope County Sheriff’s Department and Fall’s End Police Department had both been working to catch this idiot, a madman with a penchant for theft since he was convinced the world was ending soon. Donald Janecka had spent the better part of six months raiding local stores and residences for supplies for his doomsday bunker. It should have been an easy case: just find where he was keeping stuff, arrest him, and be done with it. Except that no one could find the idiot’s property. He wasn’t listed on any tax records, and so far he had managed to escape every scenario where he had been cornered, generally by taking a hostage that he dumped later, fortunately alive.

Earlier today, holed up inside the Spread Eagle, Janecka had met his match, or so local police had thought. Gary Fairgrave had taken out his shotgun from behind the bar and run the criminal out of his business right toward the waiting arms of police, but Janecka had managed to get in his car and take off. The Fall’s End police had lost him just past city limits, and Earl, who had been trying to take a nap in his patrol car on his lunchbreak, had the misfortune of being parked along Janecka’s escape route. He had awoken in a panic as gravel sprayed the hood of his vehicle, glanced through the case notes on his MDT and floored it after a shitty 1972 Toyota with both taillights out, chasing it down an unmarked road in the middle of nowhere. Now Earl was in a stand-off with Janecka holed up in a shitty old cabin just south of the Whitetails.

Earl let out a piteous little sound that he was glad no one else was around to hear when one of the bullets ricocheted off his engine block and hit him in the arm.

“Fuck!” he cursed, arm burning and blood soaking his forest green uniform shirt. “Shit.” He risked a peek over the hood of his patrol car and fired off a shot, was pleased to hear an answering yelp. “I said ‘drop your weapon’!” he snapped, feeling a little more confident now that he’d gotten a shot in.

“Fuck you, pig!” Earl rolled his eyes and gritted his teeth. All cops were bad guys as far as anyone in this county was concerned, never mind that half his job consisted of helping ranchers run their cattle back onto their property and that he had never shot anyone up to this point in his career. He had started out his first months as deputy in Hope County armed to the teeth and wearing all kinds of military-like gear until he realized it made him look more like a soldier than a police officer. Most of the time, he was just here to help. Most of the time, if his weapon was in his hand, it was only because he was cleaning it. But not today.

“Drop your weapon!” Earl repeated.

“I’ve got a hostage!” Janecka screamed in answer. “I’ve got Mary May!”

“Bullshit!” Earl yelled back, but he swore under his breath. He hadn’t seen an infant in the car, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t there. Didn’t Mary May stay at home with her mother? She was only eight months old as far as Earl could remember. “Dispatch, this is Whitehorse, over,” he gasped out into his radio after snatching it gingerly from the cab.

“This is dispatch. Go ahead, Whitehorse,” came a middle-aged woman’s voice.

“Dispatch, can you confirm that the Fairgraves currently have custody of their daughter? Perp is claiming he has Mary May. Also, where the hell is that backup, over?!”

“Dispatch to Whitehorse, we will confirm on Mary May. Backup is en route. ETA ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes, fuck you, ten minutes,” Earl muttered, making sure his finger was not keying up the radio when he did so. He leaned back against the door of his patrol car and took a deep, steadying breath. “Jesus!” he yelped as yet another bullet whizzed over his head. “Listen, Don,” he started, trying to de-escalate the situation.

“It’s ‘DONALD’!” Janecka screamed.

“Okay, okay, Donald, then. Donald. Why don’t you just put the gun down, stop shooting, and we can talk about this.”

“Fuck you!”

Earl took another deep breath in through his nostrils, fluttering his mustache. He’d started growing it last year when he had started on the force, and today, he was regretting the decision, could feel sweat trickling in it, could smell his own fear on himself. His armpits were swampy and hot and he still felt a little lightheaded, felt his own mortality like a freight train bearing down on him.

“Look, there’s no good way out of this for you if you keep your gun in your hand, Donald. Backup’s comin’. You’re not going anywhere.”

“Not if I kill you.”

“Well, you’ve got me there, but I really don’t think that’s a good idea. First, because I don’t want to die, and second, because we still have the death penalty here in Montana. You killin’ a young, handsome police officer, you think that’ll make the judge take kindly to you?” There was silence, but, blessedly, no more gunshots. Earl huffed out a breath, hoping the attempt at humor wasn’t going to get him killed. “Donald? What’s this all about anyway?”

“The end is coming, pig. Not now, but it’s comin’ soon. Gotta be ready.”

“And you couldn’t have bought your own supplies?” Earl taunted absently as he peeked over his car, looking for Janecka. There.

“The strong will take from the weak.” Earl scowled.

“Dispatch to Whitehorse.”

“This is Whitehorse, go ahead, dispatch.”

“Confirmed, Mary May is with her mother, over.”

“Ten-four, dispatch. Whitehorse out.”

“Stop talkin’ on that radio!” Another shot. Earl ducked, feeling more sweat trickling down his shoulder blades, cutting a merry path to the space between his butt cheeks. Jesus, what he wouldn’t give for a shower right about now.

“Now, Donald, we gotta figure something out here,” Earl told him, creeping to the end of his car and stepping behind Janecka’s. He peered toward the cabin, saw the silhouette still there in the window. “This kinda thing just ain’t gonna fly. You can’t be takin’ from people. You can’t be hurting people.”

“I ain’t hurt nobody.” Earl forced himself not to comment on the state of his left forearm, which was still leaking blood and ached and throbbed badly.

“Alright, Donald. Alright, look, can we talk? Just talk?”

“There ain’t nothin’ for us to talk about.”

“Alright, then,” Earl responded, sneaking slowly around the side of the cabin. “Fine,” he whispered as he got a bead on Janecka through the back cabin window. He made sure he had the man plainly in his sights through the thin curtain and stood. “Drop your weapon and come out with your hands up!” Janecka whirled and Earl shot, missed wildly, but Janecka dropped his weapon nonetheless. The man, a tall but gangly brunette with a pock-marked face and a scraggly beard put his hands behind his head, shaking now that he was cornered. Earl would be lying if he said it didn’t give him a sick sense of satisfaction. He forced himself to calm. Being wrathful did not make one a good police officer. He was here to dispense justice, not anger.

Earl stepped forward and took Janecka’s hands gently, ratcheting his cuffs onto the pale wrists after he kicked his weapon away. Earl searched his pockets as he spoke, patting him down. “Donald Janecka. You’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.”

“Fuck you! Fuck you, pig! One of these days, you’ll get yours. One of these days, you’ll pay.” Earl sighed. The distant sounds of sirens sent a shiver up his spine.

“Finally,” he muttered, feeling relief. The Fall’s End officers and his fellow deputies took over, one of them helping him bandage his arm, driving him back to the clinic. Once they found Janecka’s little rat hole, police discovered that he _had_ hurt people, no matter how much he protested otherwise. They had found two missing persons dead on his property, as well as a hard drive full of kiddy porn. He was, as it turned out, a truly despicable person.

“Good job getting him under control and in custody, Earl. You know, with a steady, calm disposition like yours, you keep working at it, I’d bet you’d make a great sheriff when I get tired of dealing with this job,” his boss Sheriff Abraham Rook told him with a small smile. “Been thinkin’ about hanging it up now that I’ve got a kid.”

“I’m just here for the fishin’, sir,” Earl assured him, a little pale from the blood loss, even after having his arm radiographed and set the previous day. “I’m just glad Janecka can’t hurt anybody anymore.”

\-----

“I told you,” Janecka said, his black trench coat and wool sweater with that damned Eden’s Gate cross making it clear how he had managed to escape custody. “I told you you’d pay, Sheriff,” Janecka taunted where he held Rook in a vice grip, the barrel of his pistol against her temple. Earl looked down from atop the jail wall, horrified, his stomach flip-flopping hard. Rook might as well be his daughter, was his late friend Abraham Rook’s actual daughter.

“No,” Earl muttered, heart in his throat, “please not her. Please.” Rook stared up at him with those big green eyes and a thousand little moments shot through his mind, teaching her how to fish, teaching her how to shoot a gun with her dad, giving her advice about dating women because she wasn’t ready to come out to her parents yet. She might as well be his kid, and here she was, in mortal peril and there was nothing he could do about it.

“You ruined my life!” Janecka shrieked at him, choking Rook roughly as he held her in place.

“You ruined your own life, you son-of-a-bitch,” Earl snarled, trying to get a clear shot, but Janecka kept shifting himself and Rook.

“The Father doesn’t want the sinner dead,” one of the other cult members said, looking nervous. Donald snarled.

“I don’t care.” He met Earl’s eyes. He pulled the trigger. A sudden, high-pitched tone tore through Earl’s hearing and he stood there, stunned, unable to help, unable to contribute as the others around tore the Peggies below to pieces. It felt like his hearing was gone, all he could hear was that damn tone, his ears feeling like they were plugged with cotton as he stared at the carnage below him. The Peggies were wiped out in moments and they all lay dead, Rook among them. Earl shook himself, sliding hard down the ladder, his feet slamming into the ground and his knees aching. Pushing out of the jail’s door, he rushed to Rook, who was, surprisingly, still alive, but only barely. In his haste to shoot her, Janecka’s grip had slipped and he’d hit her in the neck instead of the temple. She was gasping for breath, blood pooling beneath her. Earl rushed to her side, pulled her into his lap protectively, pushed his wide hand hard over the wound as she swallowed, choking, gasping for breath desperately, her face looking pallid as her blood flowed out of her like a faucet no matter how hard Earl forced his hands against her neck.

“Please, no, please, Rook, no, please,” he muttered, trying to hold pressure while not strangling her. Her mouth gaped like a fish and he could see terror in those green eyes that he had spent the last twenty-five years looking into. He should never have allowed her to join the force, he thought, panicking as her breathing went irregular. “Stay with me, Rook. Rook, don’t leave me. Rook, we need you. Rook, goddammit, that’s an order. Rook, Rook. Rook? Rook!” She gurgled and her head lolled back, heavy in his lap. He kept his palm clamped on her neck. “Where is the medic!” he screamed. Tracey Lader approached him carefully, as though he was a wild animal.

“Earl. Earl, she’s gone.”

“No. No, Rook, wake up. Rook! Rook, no, no, please,” he sobbed, pulling her farther into his lap, sudden weeps racking through him as he held her close, pulled her so that the side of her head rested against his chest. Her blood, hot and sticky and smelling like new pennies, soaked into his uniform shirt, staining the material, making his sheriff’s badge stand out bright and shining amidst the gore. “Rook, Rook,” he sobbed, voice raw. Tracey tugged at his shoulder and he shoved her roughly away from where he half-sat, half-laid on the ground, his deputy…his daughter in his lap.

“Sheriff, more will be coming.”

“Leave me alone,” he snapped.

“Earl…”

“I said ‘go away,’ goddammit!” he roared. He stayed there, rocking Rook slowly in his lap as he had done when she was five and he had watched her for his friend Abe so he could take his wife Eve on a date. He stroked her soft hair as he had done when she was seven when the whole family was down with the flu. He took her hand gently as he had done when she was ten and he was showing her how to flick her line to capture the attention of fish. He held her cheek as he had done when he had told her that everything would be alright before she came out to her parents. He held her, as he had done innumerable times before, and he wept, for what was, and what could have been.

\-----

Eden’s Gate had put down their weapons, had all but surrendered following the news of Rook’s death. Earl didn’t understand it, but he also found he didn’t care. The Resistance had arranged a funeral. The church in Fall’s End was packed with people, both Resistance and cult. There was a wary, grudging peace between them for this solemn occasion. It was not until the Seeds walked through the door that anyone really questioned it. The chapel fell silent, all eyes on the Seeds, all eyes on Joseph. Earl stood next to Rook’s casket, a hand on his weapon, his lip curled in disgust and grief. He wanted to blame the cult. He wanted to blame Joseph. But Joseph had not pulled the trigger.

“What are you doing here?” Earl demanded softly as the little entourage made it to the casket. Joseph put an achingly gentle hand on his shoulder. His eyes were red-ringed, and he looked like he’d been crying.

“This was not how this was supposed to happen,” he murmured, voice haunted. “This was not God’s will.”

“You son-of-a-bitch…” but Jerome’s broad hand on his other shoulder stopped him. Earl clenched his jaw so hard he felt a filling crack. “Get out.” Joseph met his eyes.

“She was to be our Judge. Our protector. She was to be the one who decided…no. It’s too late now. It is finished.” Jacob, the largest of the group stepped forward, put a massive paw on one of Rook’s hands and it took all of Earl’s considerable self-control not to break his arm for touching Rook.

“Sorry, pup,” Jacob murmured in his gravelly tone, his thumb gently stroking Rook’s hand. He set a music box into her casket and stepped back. John moved close to the casket now, his face, as always, arrogant, but tinged with regret. He met Earl’s eyes with his bright blue ones.

“If there is anything I can do, Sheriff,” he said. “Please do not hesitate to make it known.” Earl didn’t have a response for that, could only think that none of this would have happened if they all, collectively, had just left well enough alone, had all just fucked off and let one another live in peace. There was nothing that could be done to rectify this, to fix it.

Faith Seed pushed her adopted brothers out of the way and slipped an Angel’s Trumpet flower behind Rook’s ear. It looked pretty there, white and crisp against her honey-brown hair. Faith leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to Rook’s cold lips and then stepped away without saying anything.

Joseph lingered, a tear sliding down his cheek, dropping onto his formal shirt. He was sporting a new tattoo, Earl realized suddenly, a very detailed portrait of Rook beneath another on his right arm.

“My child,” Joseph whispered, touching the back of his fingers to Rook’s face. “My child. I am sorry.” He looked mournfully at Earl. “What must come to pass will come to pass. But I have realized that violence will only be answered with violence. The end is no longer coming, Sheriff. _It is here_.” Earl stiffened, lip curling again, but he forced himself to calm, to listen. If they had all just listened to one another, then maybe none of this would have happened. Joseph met his gaze steadily. His face was firm, but not unkind. “God is watching us, and He will judge us on how we choose to act. Every slight,” Joseph said, touching Rook’s damaged neck, “Every injustice…every choice reveals our sins.” He looked up at Earl, stepped forward until their noses were almost touching. He reached out his hand and Earl flinched, but found that Joseph Seed meant him no harm. Joseph wrapped a hand behind his head and tipped his own forward until their foreheads were touching. It felt…weird, but not wrong. It was oddly comforting. Joseph gave him a sad, closed-mouth smile and continued. “When you first came to me, I gave you the chance to walk away. You chose not to. In the face of God, I am offering you a place with us. I am offering you protection from what is coming. We will _all_ put down our guns, gather our flock, and stay together in peace.”

Earl Whitehorse stared into Joseph Seed’s steady, sure gaze and saw something there that shook him to his core.

In the distance, the civil defense alarm began to wail.

He knew what he had to do.


End file.
